I do not bring back from a journey quite the same self that I took. W. Somerset Maugham The Gentleman in the Parlour

I can now easily locate my fascination with Asia when I remember certain events and people of my childhood. I’ve already written about Harry Woo of Hong Kong, who worked for my parents, reading to me in Chinese while pointing to his calligraphy. My first memory of a world outside of my family is of being taken to Chinatown for dinner in Los Angeles. I doubt I’ve ever forgotten the blue silk dress and lavish blue mascara of the server. And my pediatrician’s nurse was Japanese and the kindest soul on earth to me whenever I was a sick child.

At least I now recognize that these memories help me piece together those now far away moments of Asian awakenings, creating a map of my life and the new decisions that shape its events.

During the time I was in the UNESCO World Heritage City of Georgetown on Penang Island in Malaysia, I didn’t recognize the big impact it would exert on my life. But as my memory takes over from those experiences with the Straits of Malacca, I know that I’ll never be the same again.

Not only are the peoples and religions of China, India, Pakistan, Burma, Bangladesh, or Sri Lanka all mixed up with the remnant of former British Malaya in a dazzlingly vibrant textile of culture. What is now apparent, to the world’s intangible benefit, is a vibrant and alive composite cuisine that, for me, changed my taste forever. There is no going back. I’ve crossed a food Rubicon because of Malaysia.